


something gold can stay

by icameisawibored



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, just a little BJ and Margaret moment since I LOVE THEIR FRIENDSHIP HAVE YOU NOTICED?, pre-fic canon scene dialogue in italics, s11e14 Give and Take, so it's followable even if haven't watched that ep lately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26540179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icameisawibored/pseuds/icameisawibored
Summary: She's annoyed. Exasperated. But only for a moment.(set just after their scene in 11x14 Give and Take)
Relationships: Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan & B. J. Hunnicutt
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	something gold can stay

_"BJ, you're such a nice guy. You're always making people feel at ease. That's why you haven't got an enemy in the world."_   
_"Except Earl Flagen."_   
_"Who?"_   
_"The kid I defeated for the marble championship of the second grade."_   
_"You're also kind..."_   
_"I took that little twerp apart."_   
_"And gentle. Always willing to help a friend."_   
_"That's what I like about you, Margaret. You always get right to the point, eventually. What do you want?"_   
_"I thought you might enjoy being Charity Officer for me. Oh, you'd be so good at it!"_   
_"Oh, yeah?"_   
_"Well, yeah! You've got such a great smile. Not liking you is like... not liking a collie!"_   
_"What am I supposed to do, sit up and beg?"_   
_"Oh, come on, BJ. It's for charity."_   
_"Well... you know what they say, Margaret: one paw washes the other."_   
_"Well, I always intended to make it worth your while."_   
_"Yeah?"_   
_"Yeah."_   
_"How about darning my socks?"_   
_"Darn your socks? That's it?!"_   
_"That's it."_   
_"Of course! What's a pair of socks? Oh, you're kidding!"_

Margaret's enthusiasm fades fast when she sees how much work is before her. 

Deep down, she knows it's a fair trade for the job she foisted on him; there's probably a sock for each of the people she'd have had to hit up as Charity Officer. Her hands are smaller and better suited to the work than BJ's, she knows by the way he keeps injuring himself, yet disbelieving resentment comes on fast. And if it were anyone but BJ putting her to _sewing_ , she'd be downright furious, fair trade or not. But she knows he doesn't think like that. Like generals, like Scully, like most men. She appreciates that about him very much.

Still. For a moment, as her face falls and her lips press into a line, she looks at his smug smile and wants to point out, _You know, you're not as nice as you used to be._

But who among them is? And it's hardly as if she'd fawned _sincerely_. 

She accepts the basket and the chagrin at the same time, and it's just then that she spots something else about him that's changed. It happened gradually, of course, and gradual changes rarely catch the eye when you see someone every day. But maybe it's the sudden workload that primes her mood for giving voice to the thought. She eyes him and says flatly, "You know, I never noticed it before." 

"Hmm?" BJ asks, brows raised, fingertip back between his lips in case it's still bleeding. 

"How gray your hair's gotten," she says more thoughtfully. 

BJ's eyes narrow as he tilts his head, hand leaving his mouth to smack his own knee. "Well, _gee_ , Margaret! Isn't that just a _swell_ thing to say to a guy," he says sarcastically.

"Oh, I don't mean it that way," she says, her previous annoyance replaced by a strange warmth, her gloved hands folding atop the loose pile as she looks his head over with more careful attention. That high forehead of his was always a factor, but... "It's not _receding_ , and it's nice and thick. You've got _nothing_ to worry about. In fact, I think it looks distinguished." 

BJ chuckles lightly, shaking his head. Distinguished is just another word for old, he knows that, and war had a way of aging everyone too quickly. He feels that acutely most days, and still isn't sure she isn't just knocking him in revenge for the pile. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yes," she nods once in assurance, "And I know your Peg will think so, too." 

BJ knows then that she's _not_ knocking him. He smiles some, gazing at her sidelong, and can't help thinking of the ways _she's_ changed. All for the better, really. More self-possessed, more her very own woman, every stumble in affairs of the heart making her stronger and walk taller. He admires her a lot, and thinks the way she's eased up over the years is as healthy for herself as it makes the days easier for everyone else. And she's got a nice gray sheen going, too, but he'd be a complete moron to say so, and it does her natural beauty no disservice. It makes him consider that maybe 'distinguished' _isn't_ just a polite word women use in place of 'old', and instead he says simply, "Thanks, Margaret." 

Margaret smiles back and it reaches her eyes. Oh, if every man were half the man Hunnicutt was, the world would be a better place. But it all makes her wistfully sad for a moment, remembering the drunken, cackling, overgrown boy that had fallen against her after insulting Frank, the one she'd hated the idea of Hawkeye corrupting. She needn't have worried about that, she knew now with hindsight. But he'd changed a lot, and to think too long on the passage of time would only be depressing for them both.

"Anyway," she sighs, looking back down at the heap of thankfully clean-looking socks, "I suppose these are coming to post-op with me."

"And I suppose I'm Charity Officer," BJ matches her sigh, picking up the little book she'd handed him and tapping it in thought. As much a pain as he'd found the pricks of the needle, at least he'd been holed up in the peace of the tent with no intent to leave. It was a cold night outside and the idea of begging everyone for their measly contributions was no fun whatsoever. "Wouldn't this have been easier on payday?"

Margaret snorts as she stands. "Tell me about it," she says, supporting the basket with a forearm. "But I wasn't _just_ sugaring you up, BJ. You do have a way about you. And if you want a tip, I'd start in the officers' club. It sounded busy tonight." 

"Yeah... good call," BJ agrees, standing as well, slipping his arms into the sleeves of the coat that he'd draped over his shoulders. "At least there'll be body heat! Just let me get my scarf and I'll get the door," he offers, reaching for the scarf and winding it around his neck. 

_Like I said - a collie_ , Margaret smiles to herself, watching his long strides beat her to the door of the Swamp, warmed anew by the evidence that some things, some very good and pure things, might turn from gold to gray on the surface but never truly change. 


End file.
